Dust
by GeeksGeeks
Summary: AU. After Voldemort's defeat, the Wizarding World, and the world at large, is gone due to war, pestilence, and indifference. Our heroes are gone. Through a sacrifice, what rises from the dust, either old choices or new, will reshape the past to help the future.
1. Chapter 1 - Dust

Dust

By GeeksGeeks

A/N. Everything Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling and Warner Brothers Studios. Just throwing sand in the playpen.

As a heads up, this will be very AU; members, events, and some themes will be from canon, but their interaction and growth will leave that route very quickly. More than likely there will be some Fanon tropes you'll find in the story, as it seems at this point most angles have been addressed, so if anything is glaring, let me know and I'll see if I can come up with a new twist. **This chapter's VERY short;** I pretty much just wanted to get the idea down and flesh out the premise; I try to make my chapters substantial, so there'll be plenty of meat on the bones as we move along, usually around the 6-7,000 word mark.

One last note; this is my first fic, as "A Roaring Wind" was pretty much abandoned, so genuinely let me know what you think. However, flames will be ignored, because obviously.

I'm also doing this without a beta, so if the flow feels odd, let me know. REVIEWS ARE GOLD!

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Chapel One

Dust

In the desecrated husk of a building, a man in tattered clothes and a blood-stained pant leg stumbled through the blown-out door.

Holding tight to the splintered frame for support, with a lurch he forced himself down the foyer, palming the wall to steady himself as he moved; his hand leaving swiped prints in the accumulated grime as he shuffled towards the end of the hall, saying as if drunk. This particular building was like all others around it in the area, if not the country- beaten down, weathered, rotting, and lifeless- no one had lived within its walls for decades, and the war had taken its toll on the decrepit structure long before the elements eroded the walls.

Coming to the main landing he took as brief of a hazy glance around as he dared, noting the stairs leading off to the left; despite his weakness, it wouldn't do to grab any rest on the lower level as the gruesome creatures that roamed the nighttime hours would locate a straggler quite easily once evening landed, as the door to the building itself had been non-existent. He screwed up what remained of his strength, and with a mighty push from the wall staggered his way the last few feet towards the stairs.

With a Herculean effort, he raised his foot and placed it gingerly on the stair- what remained of his luck would immediately disappear if he treaded carelessly and had a stair drop out, snapping a leg in the process. _That would, of course, be par for the course_ he thought, chuckling mirthlessly; his "luck," as he called it seemed a very peculiar mistress. On the one hand, the war that had ravaged the globe for the past 20-ish years, the bioweapons that the Muggles created to combat the 'wizard threat,' and the vicious monsters that grew from that tragedy had killed everyone. Everyone. He wasn't sure as to the exact number of people still living, but there were no longer the odd pockets of survivors to be found in his travels, which had covered the globe extensively. The first handful of years after the war had unofficially ended, as there were too few people to fight it regardless of side, groups of people struggling for necessities could still be contacted and bartered with; however, the last six years, almost the 20th anniversary of the first shots fired, not even the roving bandits that seemed cockroachesque in their will to live could be found. Whether that was due to the lack of resources, or the deformed monstrosities that roamed the barren landscape, he did not know. However, much as his hated moniker had been in his youth, he alone seemed to keep surviving through sheer stubbornness.

Now, twenty plus years after the first shots were fired, the governments of the world were gone, magical and muggle alike. The majority, if not totality, of people were gone. There was just one man, shaking with the strain of climbing the stairs. One leaden step after another, until he stepped a little more heavily in his fatigue than he meant to, putting too much pressure on the old wound on his leg eliciting a white-hot jolt of pain. Giving out an instinctual yelp in response, he yanked his leg up to reduce the pressure on the wound, losing his balance and tipping backwards down the stairs.

Landing heavily on his left arm after the six-stair fall, he let out a weary groan of pain. Dust, a veritable screen of dirt, debris, and viscera floated around him like a cloud. With a grunt he moved to pull his arm out from under him; the lightning fast stab of pain that he knew well told him that it was broken beyond simple repair and resetting. Rolling himself onto his back, he chocked back a sob as he shoved himself upright gasping and heaving for air as he did so, scooting backwards until he hit a wall and blessedly rested there for a moment. His heart beat sluggishly from the sepsis his untreated leg wound had induced, the fever he had pushed through for the past couple of weeks burned through him, and his arm ached as if he was being electrocuted. None of this mattered to him, however, as much as the thundering growl he heard circling the house. Much to low for a human voice.

He scooted further down the wall, trying to leave as little of a dust trail as possible. Spying a small closet underneath the stair set that he had just fallen down, and subsequently garnered the attention of the horror prowling towards the door in doing so, he ambled as quickly and quietly as his broken body would allow him to until he reached the threshold of the closet. With a whimper, he reached out and tugged himself inside, almost crying with relief that the closet had a bolt and latch that still seemed functional.

Shutting the door and gathering himself in the corner, he reached to the holster at the small of his back and removed his pistol, the only thing he had left to remind him of the magic he missed immeasurably, as he had done away with his useless wand years ago- the runes carved into the metal for the magazine to never run out, to never need cleaning, and for the somewhat demure pistol to do much the same damage as a typical shotgun barely gleamed in the light. He knew what this meant, as the runes and pistol's enchantments were charmed to be permanent- Magic itself was dying, if not truly dead. He chuckled dryly again as he readied it for use, either to do some damage to the prowling creature or to not give it the satisfaction of it ending _him_ , noting his eyes getting moist at the thought.

His smile danced on his lips at the brief memories of a happier time that flitted through his fevered head, even as his eyes drooped and his breathing became shallow. He took a last rattling breath as the foul bestial groan moved closer, but in the end it mattered none: Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived, The Man-Who-Conquered, died not from a Dark Lord's spell or of old age in his bed but from a simple cut on his leg, in a cupboard under the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2 - Again

AN. Everything Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling and Warner Brothers Studios. Just throwing sand in the playpen.

Again, I'm also doing this without a beta, so if the flow feels odd, let me know. REVIEWS ARE GOLD! Shout out to theyellowflower who read this chapter and gave feedback and new ideas during the beginning stages!

Excerpts taken from OOTF in bold in future chapters.

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Chapter Two

Again

Everything was grey. Harry felt wind on his face, if he could call it that; his mind told him there was a sensation of touch on the area that should be where his face is, but he seemed insubstantial, as if there wasn't enough of him to consider the conception of "touch." But bits of the grey were flitting about in front of him, he noticed, somewhat surprised he could see them at all. Flecks of ash and stray sparks danced in a whirl, blown by the semblance of wind in wherever Harry had found himself. He turned what he surmised was his head to try and take stock of his surroundings, but the grey haze seemed endless; no perception could be made of distance or horizon, just a curtain of grey haze like smog blocking his vision.

With a start, Harry realized that this sensation seemed familiar, almost with the cold smack of deja vu- the feeling of being incorporeal, of endlessness, was eerily reminiscent of his time on "The Platform," as he called it, meeting with Dumbledore after being cursed in the Forbidden Forest. Mentally wracking his brain for _whatever_ he had done to give his body form in that place seemed to do the trick; with an audible snap he was whole again, though nude as before. Muttering to himself about his rotten luck again, he willed his typical clothes into existence around his form- his ratty button up shirt sluggishly formed around his torso, his denim jeans sliding up his legs, and the well-worn leather boots molding themselves around his feet. Anxiously he quickly reached around to the small of his back, letting out his first solid sigh of relief in weeks in feeling the cool leather of his holster there complete with the etched metal of his pistol inside.

He carefully moved his extremities around, checking for any damage or deformity; the cut that had troubled him was gone, as well as the broken arm from his aborted bout of simple stair-climbing. He gave a couple hops just to be sure everything felt connected and in good repair, then moved cautiously forward into the haze. Bits of ash caught in his hair and his eyelashes as he moved, turning his hair and rough beard a snowy, slushy shade of granite grey as he trudged forward.

Harry didn't know how long he had walked, but with no defining features in perspective or light, distance seemed to be a moot point. Time seemed irrelevant as well, as Harry felt he could've been walking for seconds, or days. Eventually he gave traveling up as a bad job and ground to a halt, stopping near what seemed a lighter, or at least less dense, bit of smog. Wondering just how much like The Platform this place really was, he closed his eyes and pushed his will towards communication; originally, the after image or "presence" of Albus Dumbledore had shown itself, so maybe with a concentrated push Harry could conjure up something approximating answers in the barren landscape. He closed his eyes and forced what little Occlumency skill he had accumulated into drawing forth something resembling a 'guide' for this inhospitable place. Images of his past friends, acquaintances, and even enemies flipped through his minds eye in the misguided attempt to force the landscape to draw the familiar faces forward into existence.

In what felt like hours of mental begging, pleading, and forcing, he begrudgingly opened his eyes in frustration to find no new development- he angrily turned around to try and head back to the direction he had came from when he froze in shock. The fluttering bits of ash and refuse seemed to brush past a spot in front of him, tapping against the rough outline of an invisible, featureless head and torso, almost as someone outside in winter gathering snow on their person. Harry stood dumb, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, words suddenly lost to him; the dual realization that there something else in this wasteland besides him, as well as the larger fact that before he had found himself there he hadn't seen anyone (whether mundane or magical) or _any magic_ _at all_ for more than a few years. The sheer magical aspect of whomever this visitor was left him speechless- compared to what little magic he'd been exposed to over the past few years, the natural aura of the being seemed almost overwhelming.

The "person" shifted under Harry's dumbfounded gaze, almost as if embarrassed under the scrutiny. It gestured with its hand as if to say 'are you going to speak or should I?'

"I….uh…who..." Harry stammered, his brain still short-circuiting under the aura.

The creature, taking the reins, began talking in earnest but it came out as a jumbled mess to Harry; too many voices tried saying to many things at once creating a cacophony of sound, until the being caught its blunder. It lightly tilted its head to the side as if planning its next move, and finally settled on a voice that it felt would receive the best response from its guest.

The being certainly didn't disappoint. Harry completely missed what the being was saying, as memories, unbidden, came crashing though his brain like a hurricane blowing down the walls of his Occlumency like so much wet paper. The voice was one he had worked years to dampen, ignore, and forget, finally achieving that feat when he found he could no longer remember much of anything outside of his current struggle for survival; however, hearing it again ripped them almost painfully to the forefront.

"Hello, Harry James," the voice spoke. It was Hermione's voice, its musical contralto ringing with bittersweet happiness. "You look absolutely terrible, you know that?"

Harry chuckled at the pure absurdity of his life, his laughs quickly growing into full-belly guffaws, laced with tears. "Hey," he said dumbly, still chuckling to himself.

"Feeling better?" Hermione replied, a smirk evident in her voice.

"I can't tell you how much. Not much conversation nowadays to be had," Harry replied, feeling something akin to contentment for the first time in ages. "And sorry about the look, not much time for a good shower and shave when surviving is important."

"You're not surviving anymore," she said simply.

"Good point. I guess being dead gives some perspective. Where the hell are we, anyway?" Harry asked quizzically, looking around once more to try and find some measure of perspective. "It feels familiar, like I've been here, but that's about it."

"Yes, you have visited this place once before. I would imagine it appeared much different then than now," Hermoine stated. "At least, I think so. This is my first time taking form in this place, and likely last."

Harry nodded along in agreement as he mused, but froze mid-nod when he caught the implication of what the being had said offhand. Rolling the statement over in his head, he was hit with a bombardment of questions and not a little suspicion, a habit formed long ago while on the run.

"How do you know I've been here before if you've never 'taken form?' And know what it was like the last time?" He slowly asked, instinctually crouching and a hand reaching for his gun. "You're not really her, are you?"

"Peace, Harry James," the being said soothingly, Not-Hermione's voice projecting calm. "No, I am not; I chose her voice because I imagined it would be a comfort to you."

"Then who the hell are you?" Harry demanded, not coming up from his crouch. "Why am I talking to you instead of her, if this is the Platform like before?" His eyes darted back and forth, looking for possible escape routes, his hand still firmly grasping the handle of his pistol.

"Again, peace. This place is much changed from your last visit," the being reasoned. "It is likely that she cannot be called here as she's moved on, and your rationality is paramount to the tasks before us; if Hermione Jean was able to commune with you, would you still react coherently with a third party interfering in the reunion? Would she be able to give you any answers not having spent any time in this place herself?"

Harry begrudgingly forced himself to calm down, once again wrangling his flaring Occlumency into place. _No,_ he admitted, _I probably wouldn't take to someone else butting in; she'd force some answers out if this….thing, though. Hell, purely for the information alone,_ he smiled in remembrance.

"Ok, I'll bite. Who are you? This place looked like King's Cross before, why not now?" Harry asked clinically.

"The latter will be easier to address than the former," it said solemnly. "This crossroads cannot hold forms any longer- it doesn't possess the power to sustain the arithmantic matrices of what you sensorially constitute as a "location," thus the lack of depth of perception; the only reason you are corporeal within this place is due to your innate magic knowing your physical structure."

"But…but that's not possible," Harry stated, confused. "I was infected during the war like everyone else. I don't have any magic left to use."

The being chuckled, "gesturing" towards Harry's body. "That is not so. Your body isn't just multiple pieces and faculties working in tandem; by _being_ magical, magic itself by nature fuses with your very being, if you'll forgive the play on words. Despite the loss of the physical functions that allow you to utilize that magic outwardly, it is still very much inherent in your physiology. The runes on your firearm still glow, do they not? This is due to the ever-constant output of your aura."

Harry rocked back, stunned. The entire realization that what his people considered as 'fact' was completely wrong left him feeling rudderless. _This would've changed the entire path of the war, if wizards knew that they still possessed some inherent magic,_ he thought furiously. _Maybe not the outcome, but it sure as hell would've given us a reason to fight. Maybe even work harder towards a cure._ After the much-vaunted defeat of Voldemort, the wizarding world did what it did best; celebrated, decried the dissipating group known as "Death Eaters," grew fat and complacent in their happiness, and went about their lives. While that was to be somewhat expected, what actually happened was the lack of any quantifiable change to it's more systemic problems at large- the populace was content to live their lives in normalcy, reticent to address the disease in their society that allowed the aforementioned Dark Lord and his followers from gaining purchase in the first place for fear of upsetting their newfound "peace." This of course meant that without the proper protections in place in policy or legislation, the issue was almost guaranteed to rise again as the number of Dark Lords in Britain seemed to almost follow a cyclical pattern, as it did in the form of a Dark Lady not a mere decade after.

A member of a spurned minor Pureblood house, she had spent years and the majority of her modest fortune bribing, wheedling, cajoling, and outright threatening the still-corrupt (and still primarily Pureblood) Wizengamot until she controlled the major power bloc; she then used the system to her advantage, unlike Voldemort, pushing restricting legislation through on groups less fortunate, yet more abundant, on a platform of "since the Muggle sciences have progressed far further than we can adequately handle in promoting the Statute Of Secrecy, and the muggleborn population continuing to leave the wizarding world due to whatever reasons 'they believe ail them,' we run the risk of rising numbers of muggleborn families knowing the secret of our society. Thus raising the chances of exposure to our world, this must be curbed before we lose all control."

The first shots were fired when legislation was bruteforced through the Wizengamot to remove muggleborn children from their parents and obliviating them of their existence, much like Salazar Slytherin had preached about millennia before. When the hit wizards under the command from the Wizengamot, and the Dark cabal that controlled it, were sent in to crush resistance "by any means necessary," the populace finally found their spine and fought back in earnest. Most fights were deemed little more than skirmishes, but larger "battles" took place where muggleborn parents, having been made aware of the world their children were born into via online communities, parent/school associations, and gatherings (the Pureblood faction hadn't been off the mark about exposure) banded together and fought back, usually with firearms; this, of course led to Scotland Yard being called in as firearms were outlawed in Britain, CCTV cameras checked, and the official rupture of the Statute of Secrecy had begun.

The Ministry of Magic and the Muggle government at Downing Street had initially tried to remain civil and come to an accord, but when a member of the new consolidated Wizengamot directorate, officially an arm of the Wizarding government calling themselves the "Tacere Domini" _Imperioused_ the Minister of Defense then killed him, the war had started in earnest. Automatic firing weapons clashed with area of effect spells, ballistic missiles had met with ritual sacrifice that robbed whole towns of their lives, until muggle biochemists nailed down the one thing wizards couldn't guard against- their genetics. Biological weapons were designed to target both genetic differences in the wizard's makeup, as well as rot away the root of their power: attacking their bone marrow and nervous systems, which helped circulate and ground their internal magic and their external access to it.

Needless to say, it had been a rout. Wizards died by the millions, as Britain's remaining government had been in close communications with other major world powers at the point of war, sharing this secret to help these countries combat their own insurgencies. Wizards were affected in numerous ways, but there seemed to be three major groupings of people debilitated by the pathogen- the first succumbed to the poison immediately, either being of such advanced age for their bodies to rely on their magic to sustain them or young enough to not have the magical fortitude to push through the initial exposure; some wizards had their bone marrow and nervous system viciously attacked leaving them alive but permanently "scarred" with no access to their magic (almost like a direct attack on their immune system and motor skills- like HIV had somehow been intertwined with MS). The latter small percentage, however, reacted in the worst possible fashion: the pathogen utilized the magic in their genetics as a catalyst and energy source for mutation, warping the genetic strands beyond recognition. What resulted from this was gruesome perversions of men; eldritch horrors with too many legs, too many eyes, and too many teeth immediately began praying upon whoever was closest, whether they be friend or foe. Bullets and fire seemed to have little to no effect, as they were sustained by their "meals" and ambient magic alone, so killing them was immediately and mistakenly put on the back burner in order to finish the "wizard problem," much to everyone's dire misfortune. Nuclear warfare finally raised it's head when conventional weaponry was inefficient for both the remaining magical and the "horrors," and then everything went silent.

 _"_ But to answer your question fully, not enough magic exists in this place to draw meaningful form or perception from it, despite your innate magical output. Your cells and nervous system, wounded and scarred from the virus the non-magical race created, left you without the access to extraneous magic; in the present, however, this is irrelevant to our problem at hand. The Burning damaged this place irreparably, and the fallout is absolute." The being stated unaffectedly.

 _Burning?_ Harry puzzled, taking in his surroundings again. _I thought this was ash before…_ Suddenly a long forgotten memory pierced Harry's brain, images of Hogwart's wards destroyed by Voldemort and the Death Eaters. _The wards looked very much like falling ash when they failed._

 _"_ This is magic." Harry stated quietly. "The magic of this place fractured and literally burnt itself up."

"Put simply, yes." The being said. "NOt just the magic forming this place, but _all magic._ Of the total, I am all that remains."

Harry sighed. "We really bollocksed it up, didn't we?"

"Quite." It bluntly commented. "Through the actions of the war, pestilence, and mass extinction of flora and fauna, the world shuddered under its might. Magic seeked an equilibrium as it never had had to do before, as with other extinction events the environment typically does so naturally. However, due to the strain to 'clean up efforts' as it were, magic crippled itself. Much like a wounded animal, it shrank into itself to repair the damage and 'lick its wounds'- this is more than likely why an equivalence was not reached to balance out the pathogen that swept the wizard race. However, magic shriveled further and further in until regrowth was impossible. It imploded here, in the Crossroads, and now fades away into oblivion. The fact that I can stand before you here is a most curious feat in and of itself, to answer your first question."

Harry gulped at the implications, and the strangeness that he was, for once, on the right track with his reasoning. Magic had wounded itself irreparably, and had hid itself away to die- the enormity of this fact, and of the timing of it, made Harry furious. So _that_ was the reason that the virus had spread like wildfire; witches and wizards relied on inner reserves of magic to utilize it through traditional means, but refilling those reserves took a connection to ambient magic in the surrounding environment. If that ambient magic was removed from the equation, then a constant stream of internal magic to combat the effects of the pathogen would be nonexistent. Magic squirreling itself away had meant the deaths of untold millions, probably billions of people, both from the five-year war and the twenty plus years of death and struggle after.

"Then why are you talking to me now?!" he spat. "Your shitty timing 'pulling yourself away' when we needed you most is probably the main reason why we lost our magic, why there are bloody monsters lurking about and killing everyone. More worthy people have probably come through this place with questions, why the hell am I always the one in the middle of the goddamn problem?!"

"Because you're a catalyst, Harry James." The being thundered. "Possibly not _the_ Catalyst, but one nonetheless. The prophecy that guided your life aside, you ignored the heritage and prestige of your family, when after your defeat of the Dark Lord catalyst you could have levied the start of change in your government. You allowed yourself to be manipulated by the Dumbledore catalyst since your birth. You allowed blind loyalty to cloud your judgement towards the people who you thought 'friend,' but did you harm for their own selfish gain. You allowed your own mulish recklessness to force your way through the tasks laid before you, often at the expense of common reasoning, and the people you surrounded yourself by due to your own desire to self-sacrifice; when not brashly charging into danger, your reticence as a catalyst inspired reticence in those that followed you. My sins are innumerable Harry James, but do not play the victim at the expense of your own atonement."

Harry reeled again at the verbal onslaught. Having his faults beat him into submission with such vigor was something Harry hadn't experienced, even with his upbringing being as it was. It finally hit him fully that this…thing wasn't in fact the Hermione that he knew; even at her most bloody-minded moments, she would never reach such cold methodical detachment in her defense.

Harry hang his head in contrition."Yes," the said quietly. "You're right. As soon as I was finished with that bloody prophecy, I hid from people as much as I could. I led others into danger. I got the people I cared about killed. I'm not backing down from what I said, but I'm fully aware of my failings. Probably close in number to yours, anyway."

"Do not fret, child," the being said soothingly, trying to clear the air. "I say this not to attack, but to inform. While your faults were carried further by your actions, you were not what caused them to take root. This is _why_ you are a catalyst, and why you are here at this moment. It is also why you are a Coordinate."

"Should I even ask what that means, or just accept another title and go with it?" Harry chuckled mirthlessly.

"At least it's not hyphenated," the being replied dryly.

"A beautiful thing, that." Harry shot back, a smile on his lips. After all he had fought for, all that he had lost, he considered his options and decided there was very little, if anything, left to lose. "Alright. What's a Coordinate and what should I do with it?"

"Yes, you should be made aware as my time grows nigh and you've some choices to make." The being intoned. "You, being here and now near my end, are a 'conjunction' for lack of a better term. Your choice from the last time you were here still remains; you can go on to the next plane and enjoy the company of your loved ones, though I'm not sure of the longevity of the visit. 'Boarding a train' is also no longer an option, in case you were wondering for levity's sake."

Harry almost shattered. To see everyone again, his friends and colleagues, Sirius, his parents…

"However, something to consider is that there is another option- a 'roll of the dice' as it were. This junction is not just a meeting of roads, but of innumerable options, like the center of a web. Have you in your travels done any study in necromancy?"

"Regrettably, yeah," Harry stated soberly. With no magic users to be readily found and utilized (and apparently no ambient magic to power them either), wards on even the most protected and sacred of places had fallen. Whether as a search for solutions or merely to pass the time, he had made it a mission to gather, explore, and study as much about magic as he could in all forms; even in Dumbledore's hay day, Harry believed he had a vastly wider grasp on the eccentricities of magic and its uses than he had ever possessed simply due to the volume of information at Harry's disposal. _Hermione would throw a fit,_ he snickered internally. _Everyone's gone, the world's burning, and_ ** _that's_** _when I decide to actually apply myself to my studies._

"Then you must be aware of the Death Throe?" The being carefully inquired.

"Partially- that's a Black Magic Haitian ritual, isn't it? Vodun?"

"Yes, though African in origin based on their dealings with the ancient peoples of Mesopotamia. The ritual consists of theft of a person's magic and history, often at their last moments, preferably with the thief landing the mortal wound. Hence the name." The being lectured.

"You want me to...kill you...to steal your power? And your history? With not even Dark, but Black Magic? And I'm supposed to agree to this?" Harry sputtered, aghast at such a suggestion. "Supposedly, Black Magic fractures the soul and causes indentured servitude to the Old Gods to work off the debt; granted we're pretty desperate here, I'd imagine, but that sounds beyond extreme."

"The guiding force behind magic is _intent_ , is it not?" The being chided. "Your own mother used a Grey variation of this own ritual when you were born that ripped the Dark Lord catalyst from his body when he attacked you as a babe. Do you think her essence is now suffering an eternity of torment and slavery to the Old God she petitioned for the ritual, or that her sacrifice was deemed appropriate?"

Harry dug through his memories, finally finding the emergence of his mother's spirit through Voldemort's wand in the graveyard. She looked harried, worried, and terrified for him, but determined; seeing Harry survive and succeed was her driving force even in death. With a shaky breath, Harry steeled his resolve.

"Fine, I'm in. What's the catch?" Harry brusquely asked.

"Perceptive. Yes, there are things to be accounted for," the being mentioned, nodding appraisingly. "Chiefly, there's no guarantee what it will do to you physically, and what will happen after the ritual has ended. Do not mistake the gravity of the situation: the ritual ending my life by its own nature will end your own- however, where you will end up from the backlash of this ritual is unknown. You could appear in an alternate timeline, your past, again to your present, or you could simply cease to be; with the last vestiges of me leaving this place, who knows if you'll even have enough time to complete the ritual before it collapses around you. Of course this is all ignoring what the toll on your body will be if the act itself is a success."

"Well this is certainly a cheery prospect," Harry muttered forlornly.

"I just wish to enlighten you to the risks involved. Sacrificial magic is, by its very nature, sacrificial." The being obtusely stated.

Harry once again steeled himself. "Ok, lets do this."

"I am glad you're taking the option," the being solemnly nodded. "Once I begin, you will only have moments to seal and accept the sacrifice. The time is nigh: do you have any questions before we start?"

"Yes, uh…" Harry shuffled his feet. "My uh… My 'sins' that you mentioned before… If I end up in a position to change them, should I? It's not going to cause the world to come to a grinding halt or anything, will it?"

"To speak frankly, this is unknowable." The being answered clinically. "This reality will no longer exist, so logically choices in your recent past, if applicable, should not adversely affect what will come as it will have 'never happened.' However, as a catalyst you do hold more power than you realize- the manipulations of your headmaster catalyst, the mental bridge between the Dark Lord catalyst, the potions fed to you from your usurper 'friends,' and the weight of your legacy must be addressed or events _will_ become cyclical on a time scale you cannot affect. This is your mighty bestowal. Do not waste it."

Harry nodded resolutely, squaring himself for possibly the last time. "Understood. What's the incantation to accept the sacrifice?"

Bits of ash and dust that had collected on the still transparent form started to fall, and blow through the partially corporeal space that the being occupied as it lost its substance. "Your innate magic is what's giving you form; tap into that." The being instructed, its voice growing hollow. "Feel the root of it infusing your being. Draw it to you. Let your form go and simply... exist."

Harry closed his eyes, and breathed. With each breath he searched his body, feeling out the slight thrumming of magic that had been with him since his arrival. He followed it throughout his person, picking and choosing parts of him to release the pent up energy. Little by little, he grew hazy, losing his opaqueness, until what felt as if his very being disappeared. He looked down, seeing-but-not-seeing, to find his body visibly gone. Where the shape of his outline was, bits of ash and dust started to gather.

"Excellent," the voice whispered, the outline of it's 'body' gone to the prevailing wind and refuse. "The incantation is _Aksepte Ak Ba…"_ the being whipsered, until it's voice as well was lost to the wind.

Harry strained his hearing as much as possible, but whether due to the lack of breath from the voice, the gale suddenly picking up, or his sheer terrible luck, the last phrase completely disappeared before he could hear it. The wind grew until it was whistling in his ears, then something shifted; the ash, dust, sparks, and debris suddenly changed its random course and flew directly towards him, gathering on this form hungrily. A soundless concussive blast rocked him to the core, and the thrumming of the magic keeping him anchored raised violently. Whatever the being had done, its self-sacrifice had created a vacuum that seemed to be leaching away at his very being, begging for sustenance.

Wracking his brain, Harry quickly drew up the memory of his discovery of the Death Throe ritual deep from the recesses of his mind; the shaking of his body and the greedy sucking away of his essence threatened to destroy his concentration, but the briefest of glimpses in his mind's eye finally gave him the last word of the incantation. However, another bit of the old manuscript flashed unbidden in his head, and Harry smiled with his trademark abandon. _If I'm probably going to die, then I don't see what the harm is in making a little change…_

Revising the incantation, Harry gathered what remained of himself and through the chaos and cataclysm of the death of Magic, forced out the incantation. On his last syllable, the dust gathering around him folded into his person, engulfing him, and then Harry knew no more.

* * *

With a blinding flash Harry's head jerked up with a violent start, sputtering and coughing out dust, the students around him leaning back in alarm. Whipping his head back and forth, he instinctually took in his surroundings; the stone walls led from the desk he was sitting at down to a raised dias on which a large head table sat. He followed the wall up to the enchanted ceiling overhead, the image of a grey, chilly sky greeting him. Quickly looking down at his clothes, an arm reaching behind him to feel for the comforting form of his pistol, he froze at the sight of his old Gryffindor robes tightly hugging his frame. Slowly raising his head and looking back towards the head table, he saw a large chalkboard perched on its edge, "History Of Magic Written OWL Examination" scrawled across its surface. _I'm back,_ he thought, awestruck.

The prior experience with this particular OWL sped trough his head like a train. The faces of people he had personally seen die, either from the Wizarding War, the World War, and the harsh years after flooded his vision- Dean Thomas had been ripped apart by a Horror near the beginning of their existence, Lavender Brown raped, murdered, and flayed by the Tacere Domini when fighting with a resistance group to protect muggleborns, amongst many others. _I'm back in the past, or at least a version of it. According to the being my future never happened, so… Let's shake some things up this time. Get it right for once._ Seeing people he had helped, hurt, and even killed himself there him on to the double-edge sword of hope; if this was _anything_ like his original timeline, Harry would work himself to the grave to make sure that these people actually got the chance they deserve.

Spying a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, rage flashed through him like a thunderbolt at the thought of Ron Weasley- something would have to be done about that, and soon. As Harry had aged, and with not very much to look forward to in the daily grind to survive, his memories (at least the less-painful ones) had become his refuge and his pastime, reviewing them through his Occlumency like a remote video player. However, when reviewing the memories of his childhood years at Hogwarts, things never seems to balance out as they should've- his exclusion from the larger student body and even members of his own house, his lack of any solid relationships outside of the 'Golden Trio' despite his closeness to Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood, amongst others, the wild mood swings of his peers from deification to revulsion, all seemed answers to an equation in which the majority of workable variables were missing. In his self-study into magic, he chanced across a thick potions textbook and begrudgingly gave it a look through, only to rear back with revulsion and not a small amount of disgust. The ginger bastard had apparently been dosing him with potions from the very beginning it seemed; loyalty potions to keep him in the loop, revulsion potions to drive others away, aversion potions keyed to him and Hermione, Luna, and any other members of the female sex so Harry was isolated, and even Malaclaw venom in specific doses to raise the chances of his luck turning sour. He thought there might've even been slight dosing of love, or at least lust, potions keyed to Ginny as well, as any memories of her tended to have the hazy emotion of desire laced with confusion firmly anchored within it. Ron's crimes _after_ Hogwarts had been even more atrocious, but Harry would cross that bridge when he came to it; hopefully his tackling the early stages of the problem now would cut out that particular cancer before it grew to malignancy.

Then it struck him; turning slowly, he finally saw the one person he was most anxious to see, disapproval etched on her face: Hermione. There in the flesh, not three feet from him. He choked back a sob and smiled brightly at her, which only worried her more.

"Harry, what's happened? Did you nod off?" She chided. Hearing her here and now, Harry fleetingly thought that the being's use of her voice had been a massively pale imitation to the real thing; her warm contralto filled him and soothed him, memories of their time together in "the Past" healing him little by little.

Harry nodded and quickly wiped the budding tears from his eyes, still grinning like an idiot. She was simply dressed, her Hogwarts robe freshly pressed, a hair tie holding back her bushy mane out of her eyes. She was _beautiful_ , Harry thought, and he greedily drunk her in. The years after the defeat of Voldemort hadn't been kind to the Golden Trio; Ron and Harry had never gone back to finish their NEWT year of Hogwarts, though Hermione had. Harry had crawled back into his shell once the press finally caught wind of his victory, and had remained reclusive though allowing visits from trusted friends. Ron had moved into Hogsmeade to be close to Hermione to continue their relationship, wasting time working in Zonko's joke shop before it was bought out by his brother George and WWW; George had angrily let him go after Ron refused to pull his weight in the blossoming, booming shop. As Hermione finished school, she naturally looked towards university, but Ron had convinced her that there was "more to life than just school;" through a series of unsteady compromises, they continued to stay together despite vicious arguments, Ron's inability to keep a job, and their growing estrangement. When Ron finally struck Hermione in a fit of rage after a firewhiskey too many, she had cursed him. He responded in turn by beating her in a blind rage, though Hermione finally got away due to her better wand work and ran straight to Harry. Harry had shown up at their place and had cursed Ron into St. Mungo's, beating him with his fists when it seemed magic didn't seem to sate his desire to make his friend pay retribution; in assisting Hermione help herself to heal, they had grown closer as friends and confidants, and had eventually, _and finally_ , Harry thought with chagrin, became a couple. They had stayed that way until her death at the wand-point of an enraged Ron Weasley a decade and a half later in a raid for supplies. Harry vindictively thought he wouldn't exactly mind killing him again.

"I'm fine, just spooked myself," Harry soothed. Looking at the large clock hanging above the head table, he asked, "About how much time do we have left in the exam?"

Hermione looked at him quizzically. "About an hour and a half, I believe." Concern started to line her face. "Are you positive you're fine? Should you talk to the adjudicator?" She froze, her face paling. "Was it a vision?"

Running the timeline in his head, visions of Umbridge, Fudge, Voldemort, and the other horrible circumstances of his fifth year flitted through his mind's eye, until Harry felt the tell-tale tingle start to grow in his scar.

Knowing what was coming next, Harry quickly raised his Occlumency barriers and elevated their usual passive level to the "pain" setting. This time, there'd be hell to pay. Despite his preparations, the vision hit like a sledgehammer. Muted images flashed through his head- a pale hand holding a paler wand, answers demanded in the dim light given from hazy prophecy globes, and the faux-Sirius writhing on the floor in agony. In a blind rage, fueled by the forty plus years of bone-wracking grief borne from watching loved ones, and the world around him, die, Harry dropped all pretense of defense and mentally grabbed onto the mental probe with a vice-like grip.

"No more, Tom," he hissed through the link. "You don't need to convince me come to you. Tonight you're mine." His mental hands still gripping the probe, he ripped into it from the root shredding it like a thresher, perversely reveling in the scream he mentally heard from the other end as he yanked the probe from his mind. The visions were lulled along with the probe as if sucked from a tube, leaving his mental landscape black and charred, but blissfully clear

Coming back to awareness, Harry sucked in a breath greedily while being met with the familiar pounding headache and cold sweat he came to equate with Voldemort's unbidden (or in this case, purposeful) visions. His hand reached up for the first time in years to touch his tender, enflamed scar, noting blood on his hand as he drew it away. Looking to his right, he took stock of the face of Hermione Granger, **_the real_** Hermione Granger, looking at him with eyes filled with wrought and not a little fear.

Harry gritted his teeth in a snarl. "It certainly was that time," he ground out. Hermione paled further.

"Goddamn it." He muttered to himself.


	3. Chapter 3 - Change

Disclaimer: Everything Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling and Warner Brothers Studios. Just throwing sand in the playpen.

I'm sooo sorry for the delay! Owning your own business is crazy and I'm rehearsing for a show… Eh, you don't want to hear excuses. I'm going to try to get these out biweekly as a new posting standard.

So this chapter's going to kick off the action, and Harry's going to have to adapt to the changes, for good or ill; how his actions change this after this point we'll have to see. Violence warning ahead! Also, once we get through this chapter, tell me if you think I should kick up the rating to "M," as it's probably only going to get more heavy-handed from here, both in action and some language.

Also, THANK YOU TO theyellowflower WHO IS AMAZINGBALLSES!

(she wrote that herself)

* * *

Chapel Three

Change

Harry shot up from his seat, disturbing his quill and ink pot, the latter shattering on the worn stone of the hall. Everyone turned as one and stared at Harry, a feeling that after decades he hadn't gotten used to; the entire fifth year class was in attendance, so the Great Hall was awash with mixed appraisals, some with suspicion, disdain, and some with outright fear meshed with curiosity, warmth, pity, and concern. Harry felt another rush of gratitude towards his friends for their steadfastness, and started to plan on their part in what was immediately to come as he shoved his things into his bag.

"Harry, just what do you think you're doing?" Hermione hissed.

"I'm leaving," he said simply. "This is pointless. Are you coming with or not?"

"B-but its an OWL!" Hermione sputtered, scandalized. "This controls our entire NEWT's year! We can't just leave!"

"Hermione, there are _bigger fish to fry._ Come on. _"_

"Shouldn't we just tell the adjudicators? I know we can't get in touch with people who can help, but the staff…" Hermione reasoned.

Harry closed his eyes and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, willing the frustration and lingering headache away. When he looked up, his face was a stoic mask. "Hermione. I just had a v… a you-know-what. This test informs what? The next year or so? The… thing is happening _here and now_ and that takes precedent over any ridiculous exam." Harry locked eyes with her, his gaze hard and even. "We need to plan. NOW. Before you start, isn't impulsivity- this is proactivity. I _need_ people to utilize to pull what I have planned off, and you at the forefront, but don't think that I won't do this by myself, either. Again, are you coming with or not?"

Hermione was shocked at Harry's hardness. His rather bluntly cutting through her argument was something he hadn't done before, but she was more taken aback at the manner in which he had said it; Harry had grown grim, both in body and voice, like a thousand years had just been dumped on his shoulders. His voice brooked no room for argument nor hesitation, and he had straightened himself up like a general leading the last push into enemy territory, which Hermione quickly realized probably wasn't too far off the mark when considering a vision was in play… She bit her lip in frustration, torn between running off with him to do- whatever he was obviously planning, and demanding he sit and finish his test as her typical instincts screamed. With a strained sigh she nodded and stood, quickly grabbing her papers and tossing them into her bag.

Unaware to either of them, the entire OWL session had completely abandoned their own tests to watch the drama unfold, as neither participant had realized that they had raised their voices. The testing adjudicators had risen from their seats to get a better view of what had disturbed the group, seeing two students standing and arguing to each other; in a self-righteous huff, they started to make their way down to the commotion to throw the trouble makers out, but were bowled over in pursuit by a short, rotund woman in a horrid pink cardigan.

Dolores Jane Umbridge had insisted on being present for every OWL testing session, to keep an eye out for 'rabble-rousing and solidarity,' going as far as threatening the adjudicators with blackmail when they attempted to shoot her down should they try to usurp her newfound "authority as Headmistress of Hogwarts in something as simple as an examination." As she shoved past the facilitators to find out just who had the _audacity_ to dare to cause trouble in her domain, her eyes fell on the two students she had most wanted to see, if not outright hoped, in the situation, and her severe frown made a slow turn upwards looking almost feral in its vindictiveness.

"Hem hem" Harry heard behind him, and his stomach turned as his skin crawled; a white hot anger started growing deep in his stomach as he turned to face someone he had hoped never to see again, in any lifetime. He quickly took note of the Pink Toad's predatory grin, noticing her eyes flit between Hermione and himself- _no, not anger, not yet,_ he thought, checking himself. _This needs a different route, we're running out of time._

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, just what do you think you're doing?" Umbridge asked, her voice sickeningly sweet, yet none of the mirth reached her eyes.

Harry said a quick internal prayer hoping that his plan would work. "Headmistress Umbridge, I just received notice that something was afoot and was packing up so I could come talk to you directly about it." Harry said, as politely and formally as possible.

Both Umbridge and Hermione looked at Harry agog; both expected him to let loose with an acerbic comment or two, given their history, not respond with respect. Umbridge, however, was quick on the draw and became immediately suspicious. "I'm sure it could've waited until after the examination, yes Mr. Potter? You're causing quite the distraction for your fellow classmates- I'm sure a detention or two would help you recognize your mistake, hmm?" She turned her head to warn the rest of the students watching the show from interfering, spearing them with a glare. The majority of students, too afraid to make eye contact, quickly bowed their heads to stare back at their parchment, ears still sharply trained on what was being said.

Hermione paled, thinking this would be the trigger that broke Harry. However, his curt nod and affirmative "that will be fine, Headmistress" again left her and Umbridge soundlessly opening and closing their mouths like fish. However, Umbridge found her stride once more and plowed on.

"And what's this about receiving word _during_ the examination, Mr. Potter? Any outside communication is strictly prohibited during your OWLS… One could almost consider this _cheating_ , couldn't they?" Umbridge chided, voice dripping with self-satisfaction as she jumped on this new avenue to goad Harry.

"But Professor, Harry didn't have any outside objects with him, therefore he couldn't have been cheating-" Hermione quickly mollified.

" _Quiet_!" Umbridge hissed, spearing Hermione with a hateful glare. "If you're aware of his 'lack of outside assistance,' as it were, then I should think its obvious you're clearly implicated as well in the same audacious flaunting of the rules as Mr. Potter."

Hermione sputtered, outraged by the woman's venom and triumphant smirk. Umbridge held herself high, taking great pleasure in slapping the pretentious Mudblood down. _This_ was the moment that she had been looking for; the one slight little rule she could bend to hand Cornelius Harry Potter on a platter to elevate her back into his good graces. Her smile once again took its feral gleam.

She cleared her throat with another small 'hem hem' before locking Harry and Hermione in a triumphant sneer, injecting authority into her voice. "It seems, my dears, that you just implicated yourself cheating on your exam. Mr. Potter, it is my sad duty as Headmistress to inform you that I have no option but to expel from Hogwarts school for this blatant and vicious break in school etiquette. Ms. Granger, for your collusion you should also consider yourself expelled." Harry felt a wave of magic sweep over him, noting Hermione's horrified reaction to it as well; apparently, after how many years of fighting and struggling in this school, his scholastic career had finally reached its end. "Now, grab your things and lets head to my office to… finalize matters." Umbridge said, saccharinely sweet.

Harry stared, stone-faced, for a healthy beat before dropping his head in mock-submission. He reached over to grab his things when he noticed Hermione frozen in place, mouth agape and tears freely pouring down her eyes. Snagging both his and Hermione's bags, he dropped them on her desk before grabbing her into a bone-crushing hug, his rough approximation of what he had dubbed a 'Hermy-Hug' too many years ago. Hermione didn't move, didn't reach up to grasp him; she started to hyperventilate in his arms, shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm until the dam broke and she crumpled sobbing into his arms, arms wrapped around him in their own crushing embrace. Harry rubbed her back until her sobs shrank to mere sniffles, cooing sweet nothings in her ear to calm her down.

"Don't worry. I have a plan," he whispered into her ear, full of confidence. "We'll be back before the morning."

Hermione sniffed again and pulled back a bit to look in his eyes, consternation and skepticism written on her tear-marked face. He smiled reassuringly at her and she shook her head wryly, letting out an empty chuckle. "Should I even ask?" she joked.

Suddenly, a bolt of magic forcefully wrenched them apart; Harry saw Umbridge standing at the threshold of the Entrance Hall wand in hand, her toe tapping sharply on the stone floor, her patience fraying. Harry reached down and grabbed their bags, and Hermione's hand, and started walking them back towards her direction. In all of the chaos, one thing struck Hermione as absolutely bizarre- Harry's hand still tightly wrapped around hers, squeezing it gently as if to offer comfort. _Harry never initiates contact…_

Umbridge wasted no time, banishing the doors open to the Entrance Hall with a negligible wave of her wand and leading them out into the stone hallway. As they came closer to the threshold, the whispers in the Great Hall grew with every step, rising in tandem with each footfall of their exit. Harry heard a sharp scuttling of chairs, and turned to see Neville, Ron, Susan Bones, and to the rest of the group's curiosity Daphne Greengrass rushing to meet them, most of them looking thunderous.

Harry raised a hand to mollify them, cutting them off. "I know what you're going to say, and don't worry about it. We'll be back this evening, tomorrow afternoon at the latest more than likely."

Most of the group stopped and tilted their heads, caught off guard by how nonchalant Harry was being about his, and Hermione's, apparent expulsion. "No, she was bang out of order, mate!" Ron thundered. "There's no way she can do that! We need-"

"NO." Harry intoned, not unforcefully. "We can handle this. Get back to your exams."

"Harry, there's no way we're going to let you just walk away and get kicked out of the castle!" Susan cried, wringing her hands. Neville looked too shocked to say anything but nodded his head fervently in agreeance. "I can try and contact my aunt, maybe she-"

"I said we can handle it," Harry said again, putting a period on the argument. He sighed, then looked up wearily, a ghost of a smile on his face. "I promise you we can, but thank you all. Seriously. It means a lot." He choked out. Hermione tilted her head at the undercurrent of pain she barely caught in his voice; she knew that Hogwarts was like a home to Harry, but his accepting weariness seemed most out of character for him, especially where Umbridge was concerned. She filed it away to talk to him later about- right now she had more pressing matters to deal with.

Harry nodded at them, giving one last brief smile before turning back towards the Entrance Hall. He took a step before he froze in place; a sudden tightening in his chest robbed him of his breath, and what felt like a weight dropped on him, rooting him to his spot. Magic pressed in on him, seeing to force his body to stay and head its warning.

Daphne scoffed behind him, shaking her head. "Fine, leave Potter. Shouldn't have expected any different; very G _ryffindorish_ to toss away options when they're available to you."

Harry's world exploded in agony. What felt like fire rippled underneath his skin, lighting jolting through his very being. Something, or several somethings, _cracked_ and then burst within him as his awareness was thrown violently from his body, the memories of his time…between… racing through his mind's eye; the words from the Being hitting him like a sledgehammer-

 _"My sins are innumerable Harry James, but do not play the victim at the expense of your own lack of atonement. Do not toss aside assistance so easily."_

Suddenly Harry was back in his body, beaten raw internally and magically, heaving for breath like he had just run too many kilometers to name. He quickly looked around, hearing Daphne finish her previous sentence- what had felt like an eternity of agony to him had apparently taken a mere fraction of a second. Hermione had felt the briefest painful clench of Harry's hand in hers, and turned to see the weariness wiped clear off of Harry's face, replaced with the hard determination from before, tinged with pain.

"And why would you care, you slimy snake?" Ron spat, eyes boring into Daphne. "You lot just want him gone in the first-"

"Shut up, Ron." Harry commanded, eyes like ice boring into him. Ron's jaw dropped, Daphne whipping her head around in shock.

"She's right. Thanks for correcting me, by the way." Harry nodded his head at her, unsmiling. Looking at the group, he said quickly and quietly, "You're absolutely right. You want to help- well, something's on that I'll need you lot's help with. Meet me at Umbridge's office in about… fifteen minutes. Neville, use your DA coin to reach Ginny, Luna, and the Weasley Twins for good measure. Susan, fill Daphne in on the way, and yes she's coming with us. Also Neville, could you grab the hand mirror from my trunk? It's the small ornate one."

"B-but," Ron sputtered out. "You can't be serious, Harry! She's a Slytherin!"

"Just as well," Harry intoned, glaring at Ron. "If you can't work with a Slytherin, you're free to stay here. I don't care either way, but I'm going regardless." Harry said coldly.

Ron sputtered again, lost for words. Daphne blanked for a second, her usually carefully crafted features falling off her face, then seemed to process what he had said and merely raised a delicate eyebrow. The rest of the group gave a quick nod, and scurried back to their chairs as Umbridge doubled back to the pair.

"That is quite enough disruption. You two will follow me now, or I will take you to my office by less accommodating means." Umbridge huffed.

"My apologies, Headmistress. We're right behind you." Harry stated, turning himself and Hermione back to the doorway.

"Oh no, Mr. Potter. I think you two should lead, don't you agree? Wouldn't want to get lost and something unpleasant happen on the way now, do we?" Umbridge said sweetly, her mirthless grin back on full display. She raised her wand, holding it loosely at her side like the implied threat that it was.

Harry swallowed down his retort violently, giving another nod. "As you say."

Harry started walking down the Entrance Hall, his face a mask. He hated the woman, almost more than anyone else in his long, painful experience of a life. His anger simmered beneath the surface as he continued to walk without conscious thought, roiling like a rough sea, his magic roiling along with it. That was something he was unused to as well; he knew instinctually how to fleetingly feel his magic, as how to control the amount of output for any given spell was one of the first things a young witch or wizard was taught, but since his searingly painful flashback moments ago in the Great Hall his magic seemed to be bubbling almost painfully, like a boiling cauldron pressing at its sides. And to have magic again! Harry hadn't realized it, but his reappearance in the Great Hall during the exam, andconsequently the reappearance of his magic, had seemed to flood his senses almost to the point of overwhelming him- after almost thirty years without any access to his magic, it had felt like a part of him had died, leaving an alive and moving but withered husk behind. Having magic infuse his very being again had shaved years of pain and emptiness off of his psyche, much as the years had been shaved away with his reappearance in his now 15 year old body.

However, since the flashback and what he had thought of as 'cracks', something had shattered and a well of power seemed to join his own and almost seemed to leak out of him, wild and untamed energy seeming to infuse his body and being with an untapped force. His skin still felt raw from the force running through it, almost as if with the rich amount of power he'd burst aflame. Umbridge continued to frog march them down the hallway, poking Hermione in the back with her wand and giving her a jolt, making her squeak. Harry's anger rushed to the surface again, and he ruthlessly clamped it down with Occlumency when he felt the power right under his skin surge and leak from his hands. Hermione hissed and yanked her hand from his, cradling it as though burnt; she quickly looked at him from the corner of her eye, concern and alarm flashing within them. Harry looked back with chagrin, mouthing a swift ' _I'm sorry'_ before wrestling his temper back under control.

' _What are we doing?'_ Hermione mouthed, noticing the path they were taking. They had turned towards the grand staircase going up instead of continuing down the hall towards the entrance to the Headmaster's office, presumably to head to Umbridge's personal office for their 'punishment;' Hermione knew that Umbridge still used her office for smaller-scale detentions and meetings with both students and members of the staff, as well as Ministry officials who seemed to frequent Hogwarts as of late. Perhaps as it was the only working Floo in the castle? Then what was she planning?

' _I've got a plan,'_ Harry mouthed back, not taking his eyes off of the path in front of them. ' _When we get there, make a scene. A big one.'_

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, confused at his statement; how could she make a scene when they'd immediately be at the tyrant's mercy, as like now? She didn't have any time to ponder the meaning however, and the door to Umbridge's office drew in front of them.

Umbridge waved her wand and the door creaked open, and she pointed her wand loosely at their backs ushering them inside, the door closing with a loud bang. "Sit." She commanded, pointing at the two high-backed, uncomfortable looking wooden chairs in front of her desk. Harry and Hermione quickly crossed and sat, Hermione taking off her bag to place it gingerly beside her on the floor- Harry, however, whipped his bag in front of him and situated it on his lap, and gave Hermione a significant look; she quickly rearranged her own bag onto her lap as nonchalantly as she could muster.

Umbridge slowly took her time walking to her seat, relishing in making them sweat in her moment of triumph. Lowering herself relishingly into her seat, she swept her beady gaze over them, luxuriating in the shivers they responded with. "Now," she began imperiously, "Let us get down to matters at hand. Your wands, children, if you would."

Umbridge held out her hand, still smiling saccharinely. Hermione hesitated, biting her lip as she fought back tears, then slowly reached into her bag grabbing ahold of her wand. As if it new what was about to transpire, it grew cold in her palm and vibrated slightly, as if from fear; sensing her hesitation, Umbridge waved her wand summoning Hermione's into her outstretched hand. Looking Hermione directly in the eye, her smile grew vindictively wide as she grabbed both ends and began to pull both of her hands downward and in. Hermione's blood ran cold as Umbridge continued to slowly bend the wand reveling in her despair, until with an almost blasé snap the wand broke in two. Hermione gasped, shaking as silent tears ran down her face; Umbridge quickly deposited the two halves on her desk onto the pink doily in front of her and without looking away from Hermione opened a drawer, removed a cloth and quickly wiped her hands down with it as if to remove the stain of touching a muggleborn's wand. Turning and reaching behind her to one of the many kitten-faced china plates hung on her wall, the plate flipped open to reveal a cubby hidden behind it to which Umbridge reached in and brought out a small wooden display case. Opening it, they looked inside to see six different wand halves, and a number of whole wands, including a number of empty slots in which Hermione's two wand halves were gingerly placed into (Umbridge using the cloth to handle them, of course). Harry's eyes narrowed almost to slits, disgusted by the casual unconscious display of bigotry and her horrifying 'trophies'; his hands didn't move, however, remaining tightly grasping the top of his bag.

"Mr. Potter, your wand." Umbridge ordered, once again holding out her hand. His eyes bored into hers, fury boiling to the surface again, but he made no move to reach for his wand. Without provocation, her wand snapped up at him and hit him with a jet of light, the _Petrificus Totalus_ freezing him in his position in the chair. " _Accio_ wand," she intoned, and Harry's wand came flitting out from his right sleeve, landing with a decisive smack in her hand.

"It truly is a shame, Mr. Potter," Umbridge mused as she stood from her chair, circling the desk towards them as she spoke. "As I have told you before, Mr. Potter, naughty children deserve to be punished. Despite you being a halfblood, I had always held out hope that you could possibly see reason, that through all of your lies and fear mongering I had still held the belief that you could be…broken of those troublesome habits and admit the error of your ways. Sadly, good intentions weren't enough, it seems…"

Umbridge sighed, turning towards him, his wand dangling loosely in her hand. "Well, all plants need a bit of pruning after a while; your father married that mudblood whore of a woman, so it's not too difficult to consider that the apple didn't fall far from the tree." She said flippantly, turning towards the fire in the hearth and almost negligently tossing his wand into it, watching triumphantly as it was consumed by the flames. She turned and met his wrathful gaze with a smug sneer and made her way back to sit casually in her seat, as if nothing had transpired. Smoothing out the lines in her skirt, she once again met their glares with her sickeningly sweet smile.

"Now, before I bind your magic I believe you had something to tell me?" Umbridge inquired, her gaze wandering between them. Harry grunted angrily, trying to retort. "Oh, silly me," Umbridge giggled in her high-pitched tone, leveling her wand. "Your mouth is frozen, isn't it? _Partem Obriguerunt."_

Harry worked his jaw, and fixed her with a stare that could freeze fire. "Yes, Headmistress," Harry ground out.

Umbridge smiled at him, waving her hand to continue. "Well? What was it, Mr. Potter?"

Harry hesitated, taking a breath to clear his thoughts, then let loose a suffering sigh. "I apologize Headmistress, it occurred to me during the exam that I had… I had been wrong this year, and I felt as though I owed you an apology for my actions."

Umbridge quirked an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued. "Is that so, Mr. Potter? This wouldn't be an excuse to try and leverage your punishment, would it?"

"Not at all," Harry said as sincerely as he could manage. "Throughout the year, I found you and your presence distasteful in the extreme." Umbridge's smirk disappeared, but Harry forged ahead. "However, during the exam it hit me that I had been… woefully off the mark about the entirety of it. Your ineptitude coudn't be your fault, as I'm sure your mental faculties couldn't cope with the demand of teaching at such a level." Harry mused, as if pondering his next words. "Must be the diet, I'd assume…"

Umbridge's temper was starting to flair, picking up on the insult veiled in respect. "And what could that have possibly been, Mr. Potter?" She ground out.

"Well, the flies of course," Harry stated matter-of-factly, smirking deviously. "A balanced diet is essential to keeping one's mind sharp, and obviously your mind is quite dulled; that seems to be the main reason I can see."

"Flies?" Umbridge spat, childhood nightmares of "Toad" flashing through her memory.

"Oh yes, it seems I was being heavy-handed and in the wrong for **_starting the club_** , seeing as your enormous failings weren't entirely your fault.' Harry said, grinning, turning his head and giving Hermione a hidden wink and pointed glance, almost as a warning. His gaze turned hard and steely, locking eyes with Umbridge again. "I guess, however, that the flies-only diet lend credence to the rumors going around the school that you truly are a reptile, you heaving, festering wound of a witch."

Hermione gasped, both scandalized and internally cheering at the utter look of shock on the wretched professors face. Umbrudge sputtered, drawn up completely short by such a blatant insult. With a furious screech, Umbridge slashed her wand and Harry's head rocked back, blood and what Hermione thought was a tooth flying from his mouth. Umbridge slashed again and Harry's head snapped to the side, his eye immediately puffing up and starting to bruise.

"STOP!" Hermione screamed, reaching across to both shield Harry from her onslaught and grab at the woman; Umbridge stabbed her wand and Hermione was thrown back in her chair, her body, though not her head, freezing much like Harry's. Umbridge stood behind her desk heaving in anger; with a considerable amount of willpower she calmed her breathing, and her anger, standing behind her desk and staring down the two teens. "Now," Umbridge bit out, "tell me about this club. What is it and who is in it?"

Despite the damage to his face, Hermione could still see the slightest of nods coming from Harry. Taking it as her sign she bit her lip and made a show of shaking her head while Harry looked on stoically. "So there _is_ a club," Umbridge spat, smugly. "I've been searching for this little club for quite a while now, as you most undoubtedly know. Tell me what you know, and we'll see if maybe we can…lessen your punishment."

Hermione's mind began to whirl- just what was Harry playing at? Harry however glared defiantly at the foul woman. "No." He literally spat, flecks of blood spattering the front of his robes. He gave another pointed look at Hermione, his eyes flitting between herself and Umbridge; Suddenly, it clicked in her head. _He's playing 'bad cop'_ she thought furiously. _Then that means…_

"Harry…" Hermione said warningly. Umbridge watched the byplay going on between the two teens, focusing back in on Hermione.

"Mr. Potter, if you have something to say I would highly suggest saying it, before I'll be forced to make you." She demanded.

"But you can't force-" Hermione demanded.

"Of course I can," Umbridge spat. "You're no longer a student here, and I have the full support of the Ministry and the Minister himself to back any… regrettable decisions I might have to make. You'll find I have quite a bit of leeway at my disposal, so be quiet. Now, Mr. Potter-"

"NO. Fuck you." Harry ground out. Umbridge slashed her wand again, and Harry cried out in pain, his head rocking to the side and a gash opening up under his eye.

"Harry!" Hermione cried out, before Umbridge slashed her wand again and blood welled up in her mouth as she felt her tongue split open.

" _I said quiet,_ you filthy Mudblood!" Umbridge shrieked, starring daggers into Hermione. Umbridge seemed to war with herself for a moment, before internally making up her mind. "Very well. You've seen to have given me no choice, Mr. Potter. As this is an issue of… Ministry security, you leave me with no alternative. The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue."

Hermione struggled against her bindings as Umbridge slowly raised her wand, aiming it directly at Harry's face. Umbridge locked eyes with Harry, a cruel, malevolent gleam growing deep in the pit of them; she raised her wand high, preparing to swing it down. " _CRUC-"_

 _"_ TELL HER, HARRY!" Hermione screamed numbly, halting Umbridge mid-incantation. Her head whipped back around to stare at Hermione, the cruelty still flickering behind her eyes. Umbridge stalked over to her chair, towering over the girl menacingly. "Tell. Me. What?" She ground out.

Hermione played up mumbling incoherently around her split, bleeding tongue, using the time to desperately come up with something, anything, that might put Umbridge on the back foot. Her mumbling seemed to infuriate Umbridge more, until her impatience got the better of her; roughly grabbing Hermione's jaw, she yanked it down and cast an _Epsikey_ directly on Hermione's tongue. "Enough of that incessant sputtering, TELL ME NOW." Umbridge screamed at Hermione, pointing her wand back point-blank at Harry's head.

"It's an army!" Hermione gasped, shouting around her still sore tongue, trying to spit out the remaining blood from her mouth.

"An army, you said?" Umbridge stammered, eagerness illuminating her toad-like features.

"Yes. We meet in the Room of Requirement and take the floo-"

"I know there's a not a bloody army, you ridiculous girl! Do you take me for a fool? There _are no working floo's in this school anymore-_ " Umbridge sneered.

"This one is! It lets Dumbledore back into the school so he can teach us personally. We overheard him say it was the only connection to where he was staying…" Hermione lied, her nervousness lending authenticity to her faltering acting. "I'm not sure, but I think it was his personal floo address…"

Umbridge started to almost vibrate with excitement, and Hermione thanked whatever Gods were above that Umbridge was too flustered to pick apart he details of her story. "What is it, girl? What's the address?" She demanded, almost foaming at the mouth.

"Phoenix's Roost," Hermione lied, pressing her luck. "The password was 'Peppermint Humbug,' I think. Either way, we were prepping for a lesson after the exam, so he wouldn't be alone; he'd probably have some of his secret order with him-"

Umbridge upon hearing that almost exploded with glee; rushing over to the fireplace, she grabbed a handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the flames, letting the emerald light fill the room before sticking her head in and almost screaming "MINISTRY OF MAG-"

Umbridge felt an unexpected tap on her shoulder, shocking her enough to withdraw her head from the flames. Whipping her head around she was able to catch the briefest blur of brown before one of the uncomfortable high-backed chairs was smashed into her face, shattering her nose and teeth and knocking her out cold. Harry stood heaving beside her broken body, still holding the sole leg that remained of the ruined chair; tossing it aside, he shot an icy glare at Umbridge before swinging a swift kick into the woman side. "CHRIST, that felt good. I've wanted to do that for ages!" he exhaled, throwing his head back and savoring the victory.

Hermione gaped at Harry, torn in half between sheer unadulterated joy at seeing the vile woman knocked 'out for the count,' and terror at her ingrained fear of betraying an authority figure. Harry noticed her look at a glance and gave her a weak, sad smile. Moving his jaw around to make sure it wasn't broken, he gave up talking as a bad job, pointing at Hermione's face and giving her a concerned glance, as if saying 'are you alright?' Hermione slowly nodded at his unspoken question, and he motioned over to the box laying on the fallen professors desk. The box rattled before shooting into his hand, slapping into his palm. Both Harry and Hermione stared at it dumbly, as if the box itself was something they had never seen before; Harry, a frown suddenly marring his features, then let go of the box and instead of moving to catch it felt his mouth drop as the box stood hovering in the air where his hand was. His mouth formed into a vicious grin, and he quickly reached inside grabbing the three whole wands and tossing them to Hermione, motioning to her with a waving motion as if to say 'try them out.' He suddenly flinched as if burnt, his hand starting to tremble, and the box clattered to the floor. He once again frowned, staring at his hand as if trying to decipher any hidden meaning running directly under the skin.

The door behind them crashed open violently, Hagrid's leg still hanging in the air from where he had kicked it open; behind him was Ron, Neville, Luna, Ginny, Susan, Daphne, the Weasley Twins, as well as an assortment of professors wands raised and ready for a fight. Seeing Harry's beaten and bloody face as he stood over Umbridge, as well as the drying stream of blood framing Hermione's mouth and chin, Madam Pomfrey gasped in horror suddenly shoving both student and professor, her wand waving frantically.

Professor McGonagall strode purposefully into the room, her eyes burning. Taking in the scene, she took a deep breath in then in an explosion of movement started casting a long, cacophonous incantation at the motionless form of Umbridge, her wand a dancing object of fury. Long sinewy strands of metal snaked across the floor of the office, winding themselves around the fallen professor until they wove themselves together, forming a solid harness wrapping Umbridge's arms behind her and suspending her from the ceiling like a spiders web. As Umbridge twitched in her stupor, electricity wiped back and forth along the wires, shocking her into stillness; Harry raised an eyebrow in approval of the spell, even mores that it was borderline dark. Apparently McGonagall knew more than she let on.

"What. Happened. Here." McGonagall demanded through clenched teeth, not trusting herself to speak at her full volume for fear of getting on a tear, possibly damaging her two favorite student's psyche's more than what they'd apparently been through. Hermione's eyes met hers, her mouth cracking open to speak, until her mind caught up with her through her shock and she broke down into wracking sobs. McGonagall's fury instantly shattered leaving only pity and concern, and she ran to Hermione quickly gathering her in her arms; the group still lingering in the doorway stared, both shocked at the scene that lay before them, as well as the ever-unflappable professor completely breaking her usual decorum and holding a student, cooing calming words into Hermione's ear.

She locked eyes with Harry, and Harry nodded in assent even as he winced from Madam Pomfrey's ministrations. "M'bridge snapped h'r wand, 'nd curshed h'r." Harry rumbled through broken teeth and jaw, as Madam Pomfrey's wand danced in front of his face. He yelped at a trust of her wand, his jaw snapping back into place; trying to rub the tightness and pain away, he worked it a bit before continuing. "She expelled us, then marched us up here before cursing us, snapping Hermione's wand, and tossing mine in the fire."

Hermione's sobs had finally broken towards wet sniffles; looking directly at Harry as if trying to draw strength, she filled in the gaps. "She was about to use the Cruciatus Curse on Harry when I managed to distract her. She was about to floo the Ministry when Harry hit…uh..."

"I smashed a chair in her face," Harry finished somberly, though chuckling painfully when he heard a whoop from the group still at the door. "Hermione was brilliant. She told Umbridge that Dumbledore flood to the school directly, and that we overheard his 'private flow address.' The Toad- sorry, the professor wanted to let Fudge know, so she ran to the fireplace and I…uh…stopped her."

"Wait," Hermione said, suddenly piercing him with a look. "She petrified you! How did you manage to get up from your chair-"

"Why do you think I said keep your bag in your lap?" Harry asked, grinning again. "I lifted it just a bit to catch the curse and let it go once it hit the bag itself. I just faked the rest."

"HARRY!" Hermione gasped, shocked. "You just let her curse you?! But…why?!"

"I knew you had it." He answered simply, confidence in her filling his voice. Hermione kept his gaze, embarrassment, admiration, and not a little confusion swelling in her eyes. Harry heard a grunt of frustration from the doorway and his eyes automatically locked onto Ron's. He coldly stared him down until Ron flinched, quickly looking away.

"And what about our… esteemed Headmistress?" Professor Flitwick squeaked, teetering into the room. "While I'm ashamed to admit I don't mind Mr. Potter's handling of the situation," he speared the trussed professor with a withering glance, "I'm sure the Board of Governors would be loath to let her stay tied up in her office."

McGonagall slowly extracted herself from Hermione's grasp, standing and helping the girl up. Hermione smiled apologetically at her moist and smeared tartan, and McGonagall gave her a small smile of forgiveness ( _It's absolutely bizarre to see her smile so much,_ Harry thought), casting a quick _Scourgify_ on herself. Waving her wand, she dispelled the wires letting Umbridge crash to the ground, before transfiguring her into a small, pink broach and placing her on her former desk. "We'll just keep her here," McGonagall said staidly, her Scots brogue quite a bit stronger than Harry had remembered hearing it before, thick with anger. "If the school board wants to keep her here so badly, I'm sure she wouldn't mind writing in her office for their representative to get here. Though one has to admit it takes them quite a while to come to a decision through deliberation…" McGonagall gave another curdling glance towards the broach, "Oh well, I'm sure she won't mind. Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger, as Acting Headmistress I overrule my…predecessor's decision and hereby reinstate you to the school's rosters."

Harry felt another wave of magic start to roll over him, trying to bind to his core; regretfully, he focused hard on his own magic, still roiling right under the surface, to start to resist the binding. Giving the group at the door and Hermione, a sad, wistful smile, he then locked eyes with McGonagall.

"I'm sorry, truly, Professor, but right now I'm going to have to decline." Harry said as professionally as he could muster. McGonagall and the other professors gasped, but Harry held up his hand in a placating gesture, cutting them off. "I have been attacked at this institution more times than I can count, have been slandered by its student body, and have been misled by that same body into situations and isolation that no student should have to experience in their time here." He speared Ron with another glance, and the blood drained from his face; when he came back to the school he'd have to address it before Ron got any 'smart' ideas.

"I know it wasn't all of you," Harry said quickly, noticing some of the professors beginning to become indignant, "but nevertheless it shouldn't have happened. As of now, there's a… situation that needs to be handled, and I can't handle it with the constrains of authority figures not directly involved getting in the way of that task. I simply can't do what I need to do if I'm still a student."

Harry heard a derisive snort behind the group at the door, and suddenly a plan formed in his head. "Professor Snape," he said shortly, "I know you know where the old man is; tell him to Patronus message me as soon as possible. I'm going to where it's kept, and I know how to fix it." Harry didn't hear any sort of vocal response, but there was a distinct shuffling of feet as what he assumed was Professor Snape forcing his way through the crowd and taking off at a run. Turning towards the group, he smiled, gratitude filling his features. "Neville, did you bring the mirror?"

Neville jumped at being addressed, then quickly ran forward slapping the mirror into Harry's hand. Harry clapped him on the shoulder, then quickly whispered into the mirror. "Padfoot."

The mirror grew foggy, until it condensed into the still lingeringly gaunt face of Sirius Black. Sirius glanced, puzzled at the backdrop to Harry's call. "Hey there, pup! Where are you? Shouldn't you be in an exam-" Noticing the lingering bruises on Harry's face, Hermione wiping the dried blood from her mouth with Madam Pomfrey waving her wand, and a still-shouldering Professor McGonagall, Sirius froze. He reacted in the way Harry had most expected him to. Loudly.

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?! WHO DID THIS?! I'LL TEAR THEM LIMB FROM LIMB! I'LL CURSE-"

"PADFOOT!" Harry shouted, stopping Sirius' tirade. "We're fine. Umbridge cursed us and snapped our wands, but it's taken care of. I knocked her out."

Sirius shook with anger, fighting for words. "Pup… Please, PLEASE tell me you knocked her on her arse."

Harry smiled evilly. "I hit her in the face with a chair." Harry heard another whoop from the group and his smile grew wider.

Sirius' eyes grew wide, his mouth falling open. After a second, his brain caught back up and his features grew happy again. "Good," he said simply. "Got her muggle style. Botch deserved nothing less."

"That will be quite enough," McGonagall chimed in, seemingly staring into both Harry's, and Mirror-Sirius', souls. "Voilence should never be condoned in the halls of this school. That being said, off the record I believe twenty points apiece for Ms. Granger for her quick thinking and Mr. Potter for his… unique solution to an unsolved problem should suffice."

Harry snickered as Sirius' mouth flopped open again in shock. Reeling his enjoyment in, Harry quickly grew stoic. "Padfoot, I need you to get fully dressed. Probably wouldn't hurt to put your dueling robes on."

Everyone in the room quirked up an eyebrow at the statement. Sirius' brow furrowed. "What're you planning, pup?"

"I know what it is, I know how to get it without getting anyone hurt, and he's making his move tonight." Harry said, the gravity in his voice weighing down Sirius like a lead curtain.

"Wait, how?" Sirius stammered. "How do you know what- Wait, was it a you-know-what?"

"Happened right in the middle of the damned OWL," Harry grumbled. "Bastard even tried forcing false images. He's trying to lure me there tonight to get a -two-for-one, apparently."

"Language!" Both Hermione and McGonagall chided, both looking at each other askance.

"And you just want to… _waltz_ in and give it to him?!" Sirius yelled, anger lining his brow. "No, no bloody way that I'm going to let you-"

"Padfoot," Harry interjected. "I have a plan. And some things have changed." Harry slowly clenched his fingers, the desk behind him rising slowly from the floor. He quickly squeezed his hand into a fist and the desk compressed into itself, before shattering like so much kindling. Harry briefly noted that the broach, formerly Professor Umbridge, had also been compressed with the desk; if anyone else noticed, they apparently weren't talking.

Sirius watched, flabbergasted. "Pup, I don't know…" He groaned, regaining a semblance of composure.

"Sirius, please." Harry asked, honesty and confidence written on his face. "Don't be like them. Don't be like the people who want to lock us away. Trust me, just this once."

Sirius' face hardened, and Harry's guilt flared briefly at playing on Sirius' feelings of isolation and containment; hopefully this would pay off and he could apologize to him later. No stupidly falling through a veil today.

"Ok, pup, I'm in. What do you need?"

"Meet me at the floo entrances to the Atrium at the Ministry in…" Harry performed a quick Tempus _charm._ "A half hour. Send a Patronus to Order members who…" Harry lowered his voice to a whisper, "won't go directly to the old fart." Harry said, hoping his eyes were sending the hidden message they contained.

"But what- Oh. Understood. Remus and Tonk's would be a good bet, then." Sirius nodded, remembering Harry's comment about being caged.

"Mr. Potter, I don't know what you're planning but you seem to be forgetting that some of us are members of the Order you speak of." McGonagall admonished, both chastising him but also as a warning about the few in the room who weren't 'in the know' as Mad-Eye Moody was so fond of saying. "If you plan on going anywhere tonight, especially if it has to do with Order business, I'm afraid I'll have to put my foot down until I have instruction from the Head… From those further up. It is still my job to take care of my charges, though they might think they know whats best." She said with finality, but with care.

Harry inwardly groaned and rubbed his eyes, forcing away the frustration. "I appreciate that Professor. I truly do. But I'm no longer one of your charges, am I?" He looked at her, another sad, wistful smile on his face. "But this, whether you like it or not, is something I need to do. If I come back after I'd love to discuss the faults of impudent recklessness with you." He added with a mischievous grin.

"Mr. Potter-" McGonagall sternly objected.

"He has my permission, Minnie," Sirius said, authority ringing through his voice. "As his guardian, I give my full assent."

McGonagall opened her mouth to object, then shut it with a clap, her lips thin. "Fine, Mr. Potter. But I fully expect to see you here again tomorrow to revisit this discussion, and to have further talks about your decision to leave Hogwarts."

"Thank you, Professor." Harry solemnly agreed. "You can count on it."

"Please, Mr. Potter. We'll talk about it later, but as you're not currently a student Minerva will suffice." McGonagall quipped, one corner of her lips working the slightest bit upwards.

"Minerva, then," Harry nodded. Then he suddenly grinned. "Just think, my dad would be so proud. Getting to a first name basis so quickly!"

"I take it back, Mr. Potter." McGonagall groaned, shivering. Sirius barked out a laugh over the mirror, and her eyes snapped to it almost fast enough to cause an audible crack. "Quiet, Mr. Black." She snapped. The laughing stopped automatically, and McGonagall smiled smugly. "Still got it."

"CAN SOMEONE TELL US WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?!" The Weasley Twins shouted in unison. "Professors getting hit with chairs…" "Students bloody…" "Secret plans…" "And McGonagall smiling…" "AND joking?!" "IT'S THE END TIMES!" The shouted again in unison, falling to their knees and faux-sobbing uncontrollably. The group stared at their 'woe' in shock, having been put through the proverbial emotional tennis match too much to appreciate the humor. The Twins broke from their sobs to look around; noting everyones faces they quickly got back up to their feet, admonishingly shuffling back and forth, gazing down at their feet in embarrassment. "Sorry, just" "Trying to" "Diffuse the tension."

Harry snapped out of his stupor, remembering his plan. "…..ok! So, this is what we need to do. Padfoot, you mentioned Remus and Tonks? What about Moody?"

Sirius rubbed his chin, looking off to the side as he thought. "Probably not, at least right now. Once he hears a plan his views might change, but he'd still probably not go for it as you're still untrained…"

"Nevermind then, we can use him later. Susan, can you send a Patronus to your aunt and tell her to flow call Padfoot once we have a plan? It'd be ince to have some Auror support we could trust." Susan nodded her assent, and withdrew her wand. "The rest of you, I can't demand that you come with me as you'd need your family's permission, but I'd like to ask you anyway."

"Harry, mate, we don't know a thing about what on," Fred (or was it George?) said.

Harry cursed under his breath, chastising himself for forgetting that only he knew how things were going to play out. "Ok, I'll tell you, but this CANNOT leave this room. If you don't think you can keep the secret you'll need to leave now. I'll demand an Unbreakable Vow if I have to." Harry said, his voice again carrying the gravity of stone.

Some of the professors nodded their heads in assertion and turned to head out; much to Harry's relief, and gratitude, the rest of his friends had stayed without question. Harry sighed, took a breath, and addressed the remaining students and professors. "There was a prophecy about me and Voldemort," Harry said, his frown returning as the group collectively shivered. "Voldemort IS back, and he's going after this prophecy tonight. I have a… connection to him due to what happened when I was a baby, and he sent me images to try and get me there personally. We're going to get the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries and get out before he even know's we're there."

The group sat in stunned silence, until Daphne shouted. "You have a mental connection into the Dark Lord's mind?! And you're using it instead of blocking it out?! How do you know if ANYTHING he showed you is genuine?! This could all be some elaborate ploy-"

"Trust me, Ms. Greengrass, I know my own mind." Harry said simply.

Daphne scoffed. "Harry, he's a master of the mind arts. He-"

"And I'm an Occlumens. I shredded his probe as soon as I felt it. THAT'S why we're moving on a time table- to get there before he fully recovers." Harry said, openness in his features.

Daphne frowned, seeming to want to argue the point, but stayed silent. Harry nodded his head in thanks.

"Luna, if you can come with me I'll need you casting; your spell chains are unpredictable and that'll be just what we need to throw anyone off if we meet them along the way; the same for the Twins, though you'll also need to shield. Ginny, Susan, and Neville: You'll be shielding primarily, but also be casting detection spells every step of the way. Susan, I know you've been working on the Aegis Shield, so consider this a field-test." Harry rattled off.

"I can try to Patronus my Great Uncle," Neville chimed in, looking nervously between Harry and McGonagall. "He's the Head Unspeakable, maybe he can…uh…clear the way a bit? Something?"

Harry smiled, nodding vigorously. "That's perfect, Neville! Well Done." Neville's face flushed scarlet under the praise; _that's something I've still got to work on as well,_ Harry thought.

Professor Flitwick, who to this point had been openly gaping at the byplay and planning, finally found his voice. "Mr. Potter, did I hear correctly? Patronus Charms? Spell Chains? And did you say something about an _Aegis Shield?!_ " Flitwick almost shouted in excitement, his arms waving.

Harry chuckled. "We've been busy, Professor. We weren't getting any real instruction, so we decided to… instruct ourselves."

Flitwick speared him with a look, then turned to McGonagall, his eyes lit with determination. "I'm going, Minerva."

McGonagall stared at him, widening her eyes in surprise. "Filius?"

Flitwick drew himself up to his full height, at least what he possessed. "If these students can handle an Aegis Shield, and are indeed going to be running into resistance of a more formidable means, one would imagine an extra wand wouldn't be unwarranted. Especially one of a duelist, yes?" He asked, a menacing delight forming on his face. He turned his head slightly towards Harry, muttering, "It'll be good to finally show those Death Eater scum a personal what-for."

Snape chose this moment to slink back into the room from the shadows he had been lurking in outside of the door. "Dumbledore's been contacted, Minerva," He drawled. Seeing the rest of the group gathering their resolve, he scoffed at them, his eyes landing on Harry. "Mr. Potter, undoubtedly drawing your friends into another abortive scheme to flaunt around the school? Apparently your stupidity is in fact correlative to your arrogance."

Harry's face went blank, and he looked at Snape. "No, Snape, just apparently doing the Order's job for them."

Snape scoffed again, shooting his trademark sneer. "As if you'd be allowed out of the castle, and to take one of my Snakes with you. And that's Professor Snape, you foolish child."

Harry's face hardened to granite. "I'm actually no longer a member of this institution, _Snape_ ," Harry sneered back, inflicting his voice with a dash of the professor's own vitriol. "And I don't have time for your childish self-loathing. Rid this room of your presence, as we have work to do."

Snape snarled at the insult, looking at McGonagall for her support. At her reticence, he sputtered before raising his wand towards the group, to which Flitwick raised his in kind. Harry clamped his hand down on the Professor's wrist, willing him to stop, and put himself at the forefront of the group.

"You're not going anywhere, Potter." Snape growled. "You're staying here until Dumbledore returns to the castle, and you won't say a word otherwise. Am. I. Understood?"

"No." Harry said, defiance and confidence stinging through. "Trust me, you won't be able to stop me."

Snape sneered again, looking down his nose at Harry as if he was made of something particularly disgusting. "You don't have a wand, Potter." Harry shrugged and raised an annoyed eyebrow. Snape slashed his wand, loosing a Body-Bind flying towards Harry, who raised his hand. With a clap of magic forcing everyone back Harry _pulsed_ , his hand lit up as if his skin was backlit, the bones, muscles, and veins forming a silhouette as he batted the spell away.

Snape looked on in shock, and not a little fear and Harry gazed at him with a gimlet eye. "Like I said, you can't stop me. Listen, Snape. I know you're the Death Eater who sold out my family. You've played both sides of this for so long you've probably forgotten what loyalties are truly your own, besides to yourself. But listen well," Harry said, his voice taking on the full years of his experience and loss, "In a war, theres no such thing as a third party observer. One of these days, that choice will have to be made. All I ask is that you remember what my mother thought of you once, and wonder what she would think of you now. Make your choice, and soon, Snape."

Snape reeled back as if he was dealt a blow from a sledgehammer. Harry didn't take the time to watch the reaction as he was back to the mirror.

"Sirius, we need to go. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, pup, lets do this. I can feel Dumbledore trying to get through the wards anyway, so I'd need to head out soon regardless." Sirius said.

"You locked him out?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Hell yes!" Sirius guffawed. "Set the wards to stun, so he probably got a _nasty_ shock. Also added a ward we invented in school that we so aptly named the Laxative Ward, I'm sure he'll be pretty busy in… yeah, the pressure on the wards juts stopped, so he must be gone to change his underclothes. I'll see you in a bit, pup." Sirius disabled the mirror, still beating with laughter

Harry nodded at Sirius as the screen went dark. He started to put the mirror in his pocket and turn to grab his bag, before a small, almost inaudible "Harry…" pulled him from the task. Looking back, he saw Hermione gazing at him with trepidation, concern, fear, and hurt written across her face.

"What am I doing, Harry?" She asked, her voice slightly trembling from the adrenaline finally having run its course through her system.

"I guess it's up to you," Harry said, his hands palms up as if weighing options. "You could just… go back to being a student, I guess. The option's there, and I wouldn't blame you. I don't even know if this lot can come with me-"

"Not an option, Mr. Potter." McGonagall said, her decision's weight overriding the complaints of the students gathered around him.

"My point exactly. It's going to be dangerous, and I don't want you feeling like you have to come when you can stay here for classes-"

Hermione's face grew thunderous. She slowly marched towards Harry, standing in front of him for a moment before soundly slapping his already bruised face. "That's not what I meant, you daft prat! Of course I'm going with you, as if you'd live long without me! Now, am I expected to be with you casting, or shielding?"

Harry stood frozen holding his jaw, before grabbing Hermione and pulling her into a rough hug. "I knew you'd come with me," Harry soothed, "I just know how much Hogwarts means to you. I just wanted you to have the option…"

Hermione's anger seemed to bleed off, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders squeezing hard. "I know, and thanks. And please, we both know you're the 'battering ram', I'm the planner of the group."

Harry chuckled as he let her go, stepping back and eyeing McGonagall. "We're going Profes- Minerva. I promise you we'll have that chat if we get back."

"'Once,' Mr. Potter. Once you get back. Do be careful, I'd hate for Ms. Granger to have to explain how you can't do Transfiguration without a wand hand." McGonagall chided, but without any heat.

"Understood. Professor Flitwick, are you ready?" Harry asked.

"Lead the way, Mr. Potter." Flitwick said grimly, his hand tightening on his wand.

"Be safe, Harry." Neville said, his eyes still carrying the anger from McGonagall's denial.

"Don't worry mate, you'll know what's happening." Harry said sagely. Taking a step forward, he grasped Neville's hand and gave it a firm shake; Neville's eyes opened wide and Harry returned his gaze with a wonk of his own before turning and walking back to Hermione and the diminutive professor. Reaching over the mantle into the cat-shaped copper pot precariously placed on the edge, he tossed the handful of floo powder into the fire. As the flames flared green he grabbed Hermione's hand, shouted "Ministry of Magic, Atrium!" and he and Hermione stepped into the flames, whirling last hundreds of fireplaces at breakneck speeds.

Harry finally shot out of the floo like a cannon, skidding across the polished marble floor until feeling a spell slow him to a stop. Looking around, he spotted Remus, Tonks, and Sirius in his dueling robes snickering, holding out his wand.

Hermione exited the flames, walking calmly out of the fireplace as if nothing was amiss. Seeing Harry sprawled out on the floor, she snickered along with Sirius. "Still can't manage to exit the floo properly, Harry? Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. Then again, I'm Sirius enough for the both of us." Sirius said, grinning at his favorite pun, Tonks huffing behind him. Harry and Remus groaned and Harry pulled himself up, brushing the soot from his robes. The fireplace flared green again and Professor Flitwick exited the floo, wand at the ready in a dueling stance. Seeing just the three of them, he relaxed slightly and Banished the soot from his own attire.

"Well, we're here Mr. Potter. Should we continue on?" Flitwick asked, eager to get the adventure started.

Harry stretched his head, luxuriating when his neck cracked and popped, doing the same to his shoulders. "Not just yet," He said, mumbling though the enjoyment of joints popping. "We're still waiting on some folks."

"Wait, what?" Hermione asked, confusion heavy in her tone. "No one else was allowed to join, I thought. McGonagall disapproved."

Turning towards Flitwick, Harry grinned. "I hope you're not put out with me Professor, but I seem to have disobeyed the wishes of your boss."

Winking at Hermione, he said, "I slipped Neville the Floo Control Rune that was in the wand box of Umbridge's. The could come here from any floor in the school if they have floor powder. At least you'll get to see your Aegis Shield tonight, professor." He said, bowing to Flitwick, a smile on his face. Hermione gave him a swat to the back of his head, chastising him somewhat.

Sirius and Tonks giggled; Flitwick stared for a minute before cracking a conspiratorial grin of his own. "It's fine, Mr. Potter, I seem to have misplaced the password to my private office in Ravenclaw Tower, with unfortunately has an abundance of Floo powder. An act of fate, it seems, and that it's also unfortunate that the scrap of parchment I had written my password on had somehow found its way into Ms. Lovegood's pocket. Oh, what a shame."

Sirius and Tonks both gaped, then howled with laughter as the fires around them suddenly flared green. As friends started clambering out of the fireplaces lining the Atrium halls, Harry turned towards the entrance to the Main Lobby the trace of a grin completely gone, replaced by a thin line of determination.

"Lets do this." He said, and stepped forward down the hall.

* * *

A/N: DOM Battle is in the next chapter! It's going to get hairy (see what I did there?) and we get to see the beginnings of just what happened to Harry after his time in the Between. Fighting, dueling, consequences, oh my!


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